


with the wind

by TolkienGirl



Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [197]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, F/M, Flashback fic, Remember when Finwe got real mad at Finarfin?, Young Love, and so did Earwen, and so he didn't, anyway Finarfin had his head on pretty straight for a baby, he just couldn't deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Finarfin gets an unpleasant letter on his elopement honeymoon.
Relationships: Eärwen/Finarfin | Arafinwë
Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [197]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300685
Kudos: 18





	with the wind

“Ill news?”

“I did not say so.”

“You might as well, dear one,” Earwen told him, setting down her book of poetry. Her hair was drying on her shoulders, and she had given up combing it because she was engrossed in her Wordsworth. “I can hear the frown in your voice.”

He ran his hands through his white-blonde waves. His peaky eyebrows were crooked with thought. _They_ were the color of a young fawn, and Earwen delighted in kissing them, when she had a spare secret moment to do so.

They had many such moments, lately. Their marriage, though blessed by her father Olwe, had been a quiet affair. They were idling in a riverside cottage for the remainder of June.

Finarfin sat down on the settee beside her and closed Wordsworth gently. “All right, beloved. I have received a letter.”

“You _sent_ a letter. Some weeks ago.”

“Yes. To my father. And now he has replied.”

“What did he say?” She was not thinking of poetry anymore.

“He has disowned me. Or hinted strongly that he will.”

This came as something of a shock. Earwen was not given to hysterics, so she propped her chin on her hands and was silent for a moment.

“You always speak of him so kindly.”

“I have no reason _not_ to.” Finarfin smiled. It wasn’t bitter, but she thought that it was sad. “He is a loving father.”

“Does your marriage to a Telerin hussy displease him so much?”

“My failure to consult him displeases him. If he would consent to meet you—”

“Which he will not?”

There was a flush rising in Finarfin’s cheeks. They were eighteen, both of them. They flushed a good deal. “Not at present.”

Earwen could bear it no longer. She leaned forward and kissed him. “ _Loving_ would not treat you so.”

“It is…complex.”

She had met his elder brother; Fingolfin was serious, protective, kind. She had not thought him _simple_ , but—

“I feel as if I am rescuing you,” she said. Not pertly; just as a matter of fact.

Finarfin spread his hands on his knees and regarded her with that shrewd, gentle look she adored. “I had a happy childhood,” he said. “But it was no thanks to my father.”

“There now,” answered Earwen. She reached out with her right arm to open the window casement. The breeze rushed in; grass-sweet.

“Oh, do not mistake me—he _has_ made me happy. I love the man more than almost anyone. _Almost_ , my love. But he could not have given _that_ to me; could not have favored me with the _security_ of innocent joy. My mother and Fingolfin did that.”

“I like Fingolfin very much.”

“As do I. I hope my father is not angry at _him._ He did no wrong, and deserves no punishment.” Finarfin sighed. “No, my father doesn’t understand how to _make_ people happy. He thinks he wants to, but he has a knack, or an abiding desire, really, for something else.”

“What?” She pursed her lips, considering. “For what does Finwe Finwean _long_?”

“To dream good dreams.”

Earwen thought of Olwe. The difference. “Dreams are not as good as life, lived.”

“I married you for that sort of wisdom.” He was teasing. “My father has dreamed that we are happy—his three sons—but he has not known how to make us so. In part, this is because of my eldest brother, who is only half our blood, and hates us for it.”

“Feanor?” Finarfin had spoken of him before.

“Yes.”

“He _dares_ to hate you? What a clod.”

“He has the most brilliant mind I’ve ever encountered,” Finarfin said, emphatically. “But you are right; he can be…foolish. He makes himself miserable more than anyone else. He made Fingolfin suffer, I know, and it grieves me…but Fingolfin has turned out as true as silver.”

Earwen nodded. “Every family has their troubles.”

“Indeed they do.”

She picked up her comb again. The wind was running its fingers through her hairs, and that would lead to fearful tangles. “Do not worry about all those troubles, just now. The question is—will your father forgive us?”

“Yes.” Finarfin’s shoulders settled. “And thanks to you, my love, I could bear it if he did not.”


End file.
